CHAPTER IX.

Violante's first evening at the Lansmeres, had seemed happier to

her than the first evening, under the same roof, had done to Helen.

True that she missed her father much--Jemima somewhat; but she so

identified her father's cause with Harley, that she had a sort of

vague feeling that it was to promote that cause that she was on

this visit to Harley's parents. And the Countess, it must be owned,

was more emphatically cordial to her than she had ever yet been to

Captain Digby's orphan. But perhaps the real difference in the heart

of either girl was this, that Helen felt awe of Lady Lansmere, and

Violante felt only love for Lord L'Estrange's mother. Violante, too,

was one of those persons whom a reserved and formal person, like the

Countess, "can get on with," as the phrase goes. Not so poor little

Helen--so shy herself, and so hard to coax into more than gentle

monosyllables. And Lady Lansmere's favourite talk was always of

Harley. Helen had listened to such talk with respect and interest.

Violante listened to it with inquisitive eagerness--with blushing

delight. The mother's heart noticed the distinction between the two,

and no wonder that that heart moved more to Violante than to Helen.

Lord Lansmere, too, like most gentlemen of his age, clumped all

young ladies together, as a harmless, amiable, but singularly stupid

class of the genus-Petticoat, meant to look pretty, play the piano,

and talk to each other about frocks and sweethearts. Therefore this

animated dazzling creature, with her infinite variety of look and

play of mind, took him by surprise, charmed him into attention, and

warmed him into gallantry. Helen sate in her quiet corner, at her

work, sometimes listening with almost mournful, though certainly

unenvious, admiration at Violante's vivid, yet ever unconscious,

eloquence of word and thought--sometimes plunged deep into her own

secret meditations. And all the while the work went on the same,

under the small noiseless fingers. This was one of Helen's habits

that irritated the nerves of Lady Lansmere. She despised young

ladies who were fond of work. She did not comprehend how often it is

the resource of the sweet womanly mind, not from want of thought,

but from the silence and the depth of it. Violante was surprised,

and perhaps disappointed, that Harley had left the house before

dinner, and did not return all the evening. But Lady Lansmere,

in making excuse for his absence, on the plea of engagements,

found so good an opportunity to talk of his ways in general--of

his rare promise in boyhood--of her regret at the inaction of his

maturity--of her hope to see him yet do justice to his natural

powers, that Violante almost ceased to miss him.

And when Lady Lansmere conducted her to her room, and, kissing

her cheek tenderly, said, "But you are just the person Harley

admires--just the person to rouse him from melancholy dreams, of

which his wild humours are now but the vain disguise"--Violante

crossed her arms on her bosom, and her bright eyes, deepened into

tenderness, seemed to ask, "He melancholy--and why?"

On leaving Violante's room, Lady Lansmere paused before the door of

Helen's; and, after musing a little while, entered softly.

Helen had dismissed her maid, and, at the moment Lady Lansmere

entered, she was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped

before her face.

Her form, thus seen, looked so youthful and child-like--the attitude

itself was so holy and so touching, that the proud and cold

expression on Lady Lansmere's face changed. She shaded the light

involuntarily, and seated herself in silence, that she might not

disturb the act of prayer.

When Helen rose, she was startled to see the Countess seated by

the fire; and hastily drew her hand across her eyes. She had been

weeping.

Lady Lansmere did not, however, turn to observe those traces of

tears, which Helen feared were too visible. The Countess was too

absorbed in her own thoughts; and as Helen timidly approached,

she said--still with her eyes on the clear low fire--"I beg your

pardon, Miss Digby, for my intrusion; but my son has left it to me

to prepare Lord Lansmere to learn the offer you have done Harley the

honour to accept. I have not yet spoken to my lord; it may be days

before I find a fitting occasion to do so; meanwhile, I feel assured

that your sense of propriety will make you agree with me that it is

due to Lord L'Estrange's father, that strangers should not learn

arrangements of such moment in his family, before his own consent be

obtained."

Here the Countess came to a full pause; and poor Helen, finding

herself called upon for some reply to this chilling speech,

stammered out, scarce audibly--

"Certainly, madam, I never dreamed of--"

"That is right, my dear," interrupted Lady Lansmere, rising

suddenly, and as if greatly relieved. "I could not doubt your

superiority to ordinary girls of your age, with whom these matters

are never secret for a moment. Therefore, of course, you will not

mention, at present, what has passed between you and Harley, to any

of the friends with whom you may correspond."

"I have no correspondents--no friends, Lady Lansmere," said Helen

deprecatingly, and trying hard not to cry.

"I am very glad to hear it, my dear; young ladies never should have.

Friends, especially friends who correspond, are the worst enemies

they can have. Good night, Miss Digby. I need not add, by the

way, that, though we are bound to show all kindness to this young

Italian lady, still she is wholly unconnected with our family; and

you will be as prudent with her as you would have been with your

correspondents--had you had the misfortune to have any."

Lady Lansmere said the last words with a smile, and pressed a

reluctant kiss (the stepmother's kiss) on Helen's bended brow.

She then left the room, and Helen sate on the seat vacated by the

stately unloving form, and again covered her face with her hands,

and again wept. But when she rose at last, and the light fell upon

her face, that soft face was sad indeed, but serene--serene, as if

with some inward sense of duty--sad, as with the resignation which

accepts patience instead of hope.

ENGLISH ADMINISTRATIONS.[6]

[6] _The Grenville Papers._ Edited by W. J. SMITH, Esq. 2 vols. 8vo.

London: Murray.

The last century was the era of monarchs. The _people_ had not

yet formed a visible object. They were the counters at the table

of the great gamesters of the day. In England, which had since

the Reformation always advanced before the age, the people had

started into substantial existence. It was impossible totally

to overlook a power which had subverted one Constitution, and

erected another--which had dethroned one dynasty, and enthroned

another--which had begun its existence under theories of divine

right, and signalised the maturity of its generation by establishing

the most perfect national freedom which man had ever seen.

But, in continental Europe, the people formed no more an object,

in the general polity of nations, than a submarine mountain takes

its place in a map of the ocean. It had an existence, but no

recognition; it had a place, but the ship of the State passed over

it without casting the lead or shifting a sail. The government

of all foreign nations existed only in the Council Chamber. The

king was at once the author and the agent of all measures; the

decrees of the administration were as mysterious, as inscrutable,

and as unexpected, as Oracles. Men saw nothing in the political

world but kingdoms--masses of power--revolving before the eye of

the politician and the philosopher, as the planets revolved, with

irresistible force, with vast and various splendour, but by laws as

much beyond human dispute as the Laws of Nature.

The maxim which in our day is felt to contain the consummation

of despotism, _L'Etat--c'est moi_, was once the _motto_ of

every throne, the essential character of dominion, the crown

jewel, the substance of the sceptre. Whether that maxim is to be

revived--whether the struggle between popular power and the throne

is once more to be tried--whether the monarchies of Europe, unwarned

by the rents already made in their ramparts by the comparatively

slight incursions of the popular surge, are prepared to defy the

ocean in its strength, must be left to the future.

But there can be no doubt in the prediction, that whenever the

ultimate conflict arrives, it will be tremendous; it will shake all

the old barriers of power, and either cover society with ruin, or

sweep away the ruin itself, for a total renovation.

It is difficult to touch upon this subject without some reference

to that country which, for the last fifty years, has gone the

whole round of revolution--has lived in an atmosphere of fiery

vapours--has been acclimated to epidemics of overthrow--and reckons

her years by the flight of monarchs, the fabrication of hollow

governments, and the crush of constitutions.

France seems resolved on making the dreadful experiment of

Despotism. It failed before, and its failure consigned the Imperial

experimentalist to a fate so singular and so condign, as to seem

a direct punishment from Providence for daring to counteract

its purposes in the progress of man. With his successor to his

principles, the experiment is but beginning. How will it end? He has

invoked a spirit that had been laid these thirty years. Whether,

like the magicians of old, he must find employment for the demon,

under the penalty of being in his grasp, or he is finally to evade

the bond, no man within memory has placed himself and his country in

a more trying and threatening dilemma. If he attempts to make war

his policy, he will be guilty of every drop of blood shed in the

field. If he attempts to re-establish despotism, he has the warning

of St Helena before his eyes.

But, without conjecturing the personal fate of this man of power,

nothing can be clearer than the fact that he has placed himself in

a position to mould the fate of Europe for a century to come. If

he shall succeed in concentrating all national power in himself,

the example is sure not to be lost upon kings. The insults which

characterised the triumphs of the mob in the late Continental

tumults--the remembrances which must rankle in the hearts of all

Continental governments--the revenge, which is the natural passion

of arbitrary power--and even the rational alarm at the possible

return of the popular excesses, must make all foreign princes

partial to the revival of Despotism.

This hour is a _Crisis_. Principles are on their trial; the

antagonists are in the field; and the first shock may decide, for

a long period, the victory of bold measures over impassioned men,

and of unlimited might over confused, but daring, and defeated,

but obstinate, right--a contest which will never wholly cease

henceforth, and which, in its continuance, may shatter the whole

frame of society.

How far this great political change in the most influential

of kingdoms may be but the indication of a new course of

Providence--how far it may be connected with those new and singular

means and powers of nature and of mechanism which, in our time,

have been assigned to man--how far it may be, in politics, a

corresponding phase to the railroad, the electric telegraph, and

the discoveries of gold in the ends of the earth--can be only a

matter of conjecture; but while we are convinced that Providence

does nothing without system, and does nothing in vain, we cannot

altogether suppress the feeling, that an Era of _Revelations_ in

government, science, and society, has begun.

But it must be acknowledged that the monarchs of the last century

bore their honours well. They were all bold, brave, and intelligent.

Whether in the right or the wrong, they showed decision--the

first qualification for the government of kingdoms. Some were of

remarkable intellectual power, and none, with slight exceptions,

were inferior to the weight of the diadem. The age which reckoned

among its sovereigns, Frederic II. of Prussia, Maria Theresa of

Germany, the Emperor Joseph, the Czarina Catherine, and, in its

earlier portion, Louis XIV. and William III., could not be regarded

as destitute of minds equal to the conduct of affairs in perhaps the

most complicated, struggling, and difficult period of Europe before

the French Revolution.

The reign of George II. formed a strong contrast to those of the

Continental sovereigns: their difficulties arose from war--his from

peace; their combats in the field were scarcely less anxious than

his in the cabinet. The conclusion was different; the successes

and failure of the foreign monarch equally wasted the blood and

treasure of Europe; the struggles of the British king issued in

larger accessions to liberty, and to the power of that body which is

politically called the _people_.

George II. was a stern and stubborn man, possessed of considerable

ability, but unpopular in its application; unimpassioned, but

ambitious of fame; longing to figure in war, but compelled by

the nation to peace; uneasy in England, and never happy but in

Hanover, from which he imported his prejudices and his favourites,

his politics and his household; fond of power, but capable of

complying with the public will; and retaining all the feelings of a

German Elector, yet respectful to the laws of a limited monarchy.

Whatever were the morals of the court, he never sought to make them

the fashion in England; and whatever might be his own sense of

decorum, he governed his people with dignity, dying at the age of

seventy-seven; and, after a reign of thirty-four years, he was, if

not loved, regretted by the empire.

The volumes which have recalled us to this subject consist of the

correspondence of George Grenville, Lord Temple, and their chief

contemporaries--among the rest, the celebrated Earl of Chatham.

It extends from 1742 to the tenth year of George III., and is

peculiarly important in its references to the last seventeen years

of that period.

It has long been the custom of the leading English families in

public life to preserve the documents connected with their career.

This habit exists, perhaps, to a greater extent in England than in

any other country, from the superior nature of public character,

from the frequency of public investigation, from the severity of

public judgment, and, as the general result, from the importance of

having a ready defence of the statesman's reputation against the

casual charge as well as the studied libel.

The history of the present _deposit_ may be briefly told. Earl

Temple's papers were always kept at Stowe, the well-known and

superb mansion of the Buckingham family. A considerable portion of

Mr Grenville's correspondence, preserved at Wotton, was brought to

Stowe, and arranged with that of Earl Temple, and the remainder was

discovered by the editor, in a large chest at Buckingham House,

which had remained unopened since it was brought there. The whole of

these papers were rearranged by the late Duke, with the assistance

of the editor, (then librarian at Stowe,) but with the ducal wish

that they should not be published before the death of his uncle, the

Right Hon. Thomas Grenville. The latter, however, surviving the Duke

seven years, the publication was retarded till, by the present Duke,

it was committed to the hands of the editor, in conformity with the

intention of his father.

In England in the last century there were _castes_ as marked as

in India: there was a military caste, a class of society in which

the generality of the military commissions, and all the leading

employments of the court, went; there was also a political _caste_,

a class in which all the great offices of administration went, as

regularly as the night succeeded the day, and in which any deviation

from the routine, any appointment of any individual _not_ in the

muster-roll of the aristocracy, would probably have been considered

as a deviation from the law of nature. In this condition of things,

men of other classes had no imaginable chance of prominent office on

their own account. Their only hope must be in attaching themselves

to some of those "_Dii majorum gentium_"--those sons of fortune,

those hereditary possessors of high positions, those natural rulers

of the powers and the privileges of political high life. The

government, in consequence, was an Oligarchy under the name of a

monarchy, and the authority of the Crown was merged in the actual

authority of the political connection.

The monarch had, undoubtedly, the right to choose, but it was the

right to choose between submitting to the captain of the ship and

going over the side. He might appoint his cabinet, but he must

appoint it from the men whom the political class offered; he could

not stray into the world for a better selection; he could not follow

the man of talents, or the man of integrity, into the less nobly

born and less dexterously combined orders of society: _there_ stood

the aristocratic recruits for his government, and unless he took

them as they were, he was a general without an army. The advantages

and disadvantages of this system were equally conspicuous. On the

one view, ministers were not the creatures of place; they had

personal characters to lose, their principles were publicly known,

they were not dependent on the emoluments of office, nor thus had

grown up through a succession of minor employments into places of

distinction, the most ill-omened education for public men; they

were not adventurers, they brought with them an accession of family

influence, which raised them beyond the great temptation of _new_

men--that of courting the populace; and as the natural result of

their birth, connections, and intercourse with men of a high class

of society, they acted under a higher sense of dignity, and their

public acts were more generally marked with a fearless, open, and

generous stamp.

On the other hand, the evils were of some moment in the monopoly of

power in turning the State into a corporation, in the restriction

on the rising ability of the humbler conditions of life, to the

loss of doubtless much vigorous and original aid to the public

councils, in the jealousy which that restriction naturally created

in men who felt their talents, and in the consequent difficulties

produced by the direction of those talents to party, as the only

means of claiming justice for themselves. This was continually felt

in the political tumults of England for the last fifty years of the

century, and it was eminently experienced in Ireland, where every

rising barrister instantly took the side of Opposition, and where

even his attainment of office was felt as a stimulant and a bribe

for new assaults on the Government: like buying off an invasion, the

purchase was only a proclamation for a new march against the cabinet.

The Grenvilles were of the political _caste_, and for two-thirds of

a century there was no political good fortune in which a Grenville

was not sure to share, if on the ministerial side--nor measure of

opposition in which a Grenville was not sure to be busy, until the

change came round, and the bustling patriot was transformed into the

complacent placeman.

The _public_ origin of this family was derived from Richard Temple

of Wotton, by his marriage with the sister of Lord Cobham of Stowe,

whom she succeeded, by the title of Countess Temple, in 1759. The

eldest son of this marriage was Richard, Earl Temple, born in 1711.

The second son was George Grenville, the minister, born in 1712. The

next brother was James Grenville, a Lord of Trade, Deputy-paymaster

of the Forces, and Cofferer of the Household. The third was Henry

Grenville, successively governor of Barbadoes, ambassador to

Constantinople, and a Commissioner of Customs. The fourth was Thomas

Grenville, a captain in the navy, who was unfortunately killed in

action.

George Grenville, the minister, had three sons, equally heirs

of official fortune;--George, who succeeded to the earldom of

Temple, and afterwards obtained the marquisate of Buckingham;

Thomas Grenville, who, after filling several lucrative offices,

died lately, and honourably left his fine library to the nation.

The youngest son was the late Lord Grenville, the coadjutor of

William Pitt. The connection with that illustrious statesmen was

formed through the marriage of Lady Hester Grenville, the sister of

the first Earl Temple, with Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham, and

the father of William Pitt. The present Duke of Buckingham is the

great-grandson of George Grenville.

As George Grenville forms the principal personage of these volumes,

a sketch of his progress to power may be given. Educated at Eton and

Christ-Church, he was intended for the bar, but, at the suggestion

of his relative, Lord Cobham, he soon determined on a political

career. The borough of Buckingham was at his disposal, and he was

its representative for thirty years. His rise through office was

rapid. He was first made a Lord of the Admiralty, then a Lord of

the Treasury, then Treasurer of the Navy, then Secretary of State,

then First Lord of the Admiralty, until finally, in April 1763, he

rose to be Premier, or First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of

the Exchequer. This consummation, however, was short-lived. Within

two years he was deprived of the premiership, held office no more,

and retired from public life for ever, leaving, as the principal

memorial of his political career, the unlucky Stamp Act, so well

known as the pretext for the revolt of America, the watchword of

party in Parliament, and of faction in the streets, and yet a

measure which no man could fairly charge with injustice, and whose

consequences no man could charge upon the minister.

That Parliament had as valid a right to tax a British colony as it

had to tax a British county, is beyond all doubt; and, remote as the

question now is with respect to the American contest, we have other

colonies which may be the wiser for stating its true grounds.

The British subject emigrating to a colony, however distant, is

still a British subject; and the child of that emigrant born in

the British colony is still a British subject. Allegiance cannot

be extinguished by distance. If he takes arms against England, he

is liable to be punished as a rebel. The support of the law, the

support of the government, the support of the fleet and army, all

which protect the empire, and with it the colony, must require

contributions, and the colony, sharing in the protection, must be

bound to assist that contribution--it must pay _taxes_. The outcry

of the time, that the colonies were taxed _without_ representation,

was utterly unfounded. The colonies _were_ represented in the

British Parliament; they were represented by the whole Parliament

legislating for the whole Empire. The wisdom of adding to the

numbers of a parliament, already perhaps numerous enough for

every purpose of deliberation, was a question exclusively for

the Government, and the British colony in America had no want of

advocates; the whole Opposition were its virtual representatives.

The question of right was thus decided. The question of policy

was another consideration; and there can be no doubt that, by

admitting American members into the House, the United States

might have remained British for a few years longer. But distance

and difficulty, population and power, would soon have solved the

problem, and the great colony would have now been a great _kingdom_.

The war made it a great _republic_. The bitterness of hostilities

envenomed the colonies against the only form of government

_congenial_ to the British mind; and for a limited monarchy, the

most fortunate and rational of all governments, they adopted a

limited democracy, which nothing but the extent of their territories

could have prevented, long since, from being an anarchy. But

stubbornness on the one side, and faction on the other, prevailed.

The Stamp Act was felt to be so legitimate, in the first instance,

that it scarcely raised a debate in Parliament. The resistance

revived the spirit of opposition in the legislature. It was too

favourable an opportunity for metaphorical indignation and verbal

virtue to be thrown away; and by the help of parliamentary intrigue,

backed by popular outcry, this natural, obvious, and easy act of

legislature was stigmatised as the foulest oppression. Time has

rectified the opinion; and while we rejoice in the prosperity of all

nations, we may calmly respect the principles of social law.

To George Grenville we owe the "Act for securing purity of

Election," which was once regarded as a model of legislative wisdom,

adequate to preserve the hustings from contamination and the House

from influence for ever. But the dexterities of modern corruption

have proved too subtle for the provisions of our ancestors. How many

hundred elections have been driven through the Grenville Act, is

not for us to say, and it would perhaps be difficult to calculate.

But the constant lowering of the franchise has shown the weakness

of all defences against a bribe; and as the expedient of every new

candidate for popularity is to put the elections into hands lower

still, we may safely predict the growing inefficiency of all laws

against the temptation to corrupting of the populace.

The celebrated Burke, in his speech on American Taxation, a

masterpiece of eloquence, and a masterpiece of that sophistry in

which Party involved his illustrious spirit _for the time_, relieved

the House from the dryness of statistics, by a striking sketch of

Grenville, almost ten years after his retirement from public life,

and nearly five years after he was in his tomb.

"Mr Grenville undoubtedly was a first-rate figure in the

country. With a masculine understanding, and a stout and

resolute heart, he had an application undissipated and

unwearied. He took public business, not as a duty he was to

fulfil, but as a pleasure he was to enjoy, and he seemed to have

no delight out of the House, except in such things as in some

way related to the business that was to be done within it. If he

was ambitious, I will say this for him, his ambition was of a

noble and generous strain. It was to raise himself, not by the

low politics of a court, but to win his way to power through the

laborious gradations of public service, and to secure himself a

well-earned rank in Parliament, by a thorough knowledge of its

constitution, and a perfect practice in all its business."

But this panegyric was rather lowered by its peroration. Burke was

fond of looking at every subject in a variety of lights, and it

became the habit of even his vigorous mind to fill up the background

of his portraits with picturesque _shade_. He then closed his

character of the deceased statesman by observing that his having

been a barrister "narrowed the extent and freedom of his political

views."

"He was bred to the law, a science which does more to quicken

and invigorate the understanding than all the other kinds of

learning put together. But it is not apt, except in persons very

happily born, to open and liberalise the mind exactly in the same

proportion." Having flung this passing sarcasm at the profession, he

let fall a drop of contempt on the system of public employment.

"From that study, he did not go very largely into the world, but

plunged into the business of office, and the limited and fixed

forms established there. These forms are adapted to ordinary

occasions, and therefore persons who are nurtured in office do

admirably well so long as things go on in their common order;

but when the highroads are broken up, and the waters are out,

when a new and troubled scene is opened, and the file affords no

precedent, then it is that a greater knowledge of mankind, and

a far more extensive comprehension of things, is requisite than

ever office gave, or than office ever can give. Mr Grenville

thought better of the wisdom and power of human legislation

than, in truth, it deserves."

The fact evidently is, that the fiery and soaring spirit of Burke

despised the heavy uniformity and dull routine of the whole tribe

of which Grenville was the representative; that he disdained the

substitution of heavy regularity for brilliant enterprise, of

precedent for principle, and of taking shelter under obsolete forms,

instead of adopting those lofty innovations which alone can guide a

government through new perils, deserve the name of statesmanship,

and elevate politics into the dignity of a science.

But this attempt to qualify his panegyric, by laying the weight

of Grenville's failure on his profession, was keenly retorted by

Wedderburn, (then Solicitor-General, and afterwards Chancellor and

Earl of Rosslyn,) declaring that he had no intention of taking

a part in the debate, but that he had been called up by Burke's

character of Grenville. He observed, "that the gentleman had neither

done him that justice with which posterity might treat his memory,

nor had he spoken of him as the general voice of a grateful people

would even at that moment express itself of his person, his conduct,

and his acts." After alluding to the remark, that his mind was

narrowed by the bar, and that he had plunged into office before he

mingled in the world, Wedderburn (who _might_ have observed that he

came into Parliament and politics at twenty-nine, consequently had

practised but little in his profession, and that at thirty-three he

held the office of a Lord of the Admiralty) said cleverly--

"Going into the world is a term too large for my narrow

comprehension. If it means that he neither played, nor dressed,

nor was a member of any of the fashionable clubs, I believe it

may be true. But his birth and his talents introduced him to

an early intimacy with the first men of the age. He passed,

by regular gradations, from one office to another. Whatever

related to the Marine of this country, he had learned during

his attendance at the Admiralty. The Finance he had studied

under a very able master at the Treasury. The Foreign Department

was for a time intrusted to him. The proper business of the

House was for several years his particular study. In almost

every various office of the state he had acquired a practical

knowledge, improved by theory; and, from the general course of

his observation and researches, he had adopted principles and

habits which the firm temper of his mind would not stoop to

abandon or unlearn, in complaisance to the opinions of any man.

Such were the _disqualifications_ under which Mr Grenville was

called forth to the first situation of administration, at a

time when ancient _prejudices_ were still respected, and before

it was understood that parts were spoiled by application, that

ignorance was preferable to knowledge, and that any _lively

man of imagination_, without practice in office, and without

experience, might start up at once, a self-taught minister, and

undertake the management of a great country in difficult times."

We have given these extracts, as displaying both sides of the

character, and by comparison enabling the student of history to form

an estimate of a man who for twenty-one years had been exercised in

the various administrations of the empire, and who finally rose to

the highest official rank in the country.

But it is still more to the advantage of his character, and it may

have constituted the chief secret of his success, that he was a man

of integrity; that the corruptions universally charged upon Walpole

were never fixed on him; that, in an age when the highest rank in

the realm often startled the nation, by following foreign fashions

of morality, he was a good father, a faithful husband, and a firm

friend.

One of the observations which these volumes force upon us, is the

agreeable evidence of the improvement in the public health. Every

man in high station seems to have been the victim of a perpetual

tendency to disease. Ministers seem universally to have been

tortured by gout, or some painful disorder, which drove them to the

country, the Continent, or the Bath waters. The women of rank had

some unaccountable and indescribable malady of their own, which they

called the Vapours; every judge had some excruciating disorder,

which he could alleviate only by opium; every man of letters had

some ailment of the same kind. The common people, living in the

unventilated and obscure haunts of cities, had, of course, all the

diseases which we are now so slowly striving to prevent; and the

ploughman appeared to enjoy the only health in the land. How far the

improvement in this all-important matter may be owing to improved

medical science, to the drainage of the soil, to more extended

agriculture, or to some fortunate change in the atmosphere, or even

to the adoption of more temperate habits, and the substitution of

lighter food, we cannot precisely say; but there can be scarcely a

doubt of the change in the general state of health, in the duration

of life, in the proportion of those who grow up to maturity to those

who die in infancy, and even in the continued vigour of the frame

and faculties to a more advanced age.

The first letter in the correspondence is from Lord Cornbury,

recommending Mr Grenville to travel for his recovery from a sickness

which apparently enfeebled all his earlier years. His lordship

suggests the south of France as a supplement to Bath, where he had

gone to drink the waters, then a _panacea_ for the distempers of

high life, and where his residence is mentioned in a lively epistle

from Lyttleton to Pope. "George Grenville is in a fair way of

recovery; the waters agree with him. Cheyne (the physician) says

he is a giant, a son of Anak, made like Gilbert, the Lord Bishop

of Sarum, and may, therefore, if he pleases, _live for ever_; his

present sickness being nothing but a fillip given for his good, to

make him temperate, and put him under the care of Dr Cheyne."

Lord Cornbury was an amiable young man, given to hospitality and

letter-writing, and panegyrised by Pope in such tributes as his

pretended scorn for nobility did not prevent him from paying to his

entertainers:--

"Would you be blest, despise low joys, low gains,

Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;

Be virtuous, and be happy, for your pains."

Such are the honours and the advice of poetry; but it may be

suggested that a British peer has little temptation to _low_ joys

or low gains, and that it is not difficult to bear the trials of

life in possession of every advantage which life can give. The

pungent pen of Lady Wortley Montague gives an easier account of this

_dilettante_ lord on his death. "He had certainly a very good heart:

I have often thought it a great pity it was not under the direction

of a better head. His desire of fixing his name to a certain

quantity of _wall_, is one instance, among thousands, of the passion

men have for _perpetuating their memory_"--(possibly an allusion,

sufficiently contemptuous, to his having built at Cornbury Park in

Oxfordshire.)

We next have a letter from the first Lord Lyttleton, on the subject

of a tour which the minister was still making, recommending that

he should not risk his final recovery by coming to the House of

Commons,--"Not that, if you were present, either you or I could do

any good."

Lord Hervey, in his _Memoirs of the Reign of George II._, gives a

sketch of Lyttleton, such as a modern fop might give of a successful

rival, closing with--"He had a great flow of words, that were always

uttered in a lulling monotony; and the little meaning they had to

boast of was generally borrowed from the commonplace maxims and

sentiments of moralists, philosophers, patriots, and poets, crudely

imbibed, half-digested, ill put together, and confusedly refunded."

Such was the caricature of _the_ Lyttleton with whose poems all the

ladies of England were enamoured, and who won all the plaudits of

the clergy by his "Tract on the Conversion of St Paul;" certainly a

very clever performance, and an extraordinary one, as coming from a

man living in the fashionable circles of the last century.

Then follows a letter from the celebrated Lord Mansfield on the same

subject:--

"I am very impatient for your recovery, and I rejoice in the

favourable accounts I hear. I rambled about, as usual, during

the leisure hours I had; and, among other places I was at, I

spent three days most agreeably at Hagley with our friends

Lyttleton and Pitt; where, you may believe, you _was_--[_sic_,

in orig.]--not forgot.... Pope is at Bath, perched upon his

hill, making epigrams, and _stifling_ them in their birth; and

Lord H., [Hervey]--would you believe it!--is writing libels on

the king and his ministers."

Lord Hervey was the son of the first Earl of Bristol--was the most

inveterate courtier of his time, and in remarkable confidence with

the whole of the royal family. Unfortunately, he knew _too much_,

and has bequeathed his knowledge to posterity in a Memoir, fatal

to the moral character of his age, yet lively, epigrammatic, and

anecdotical. The whole family, even to the close of the century,

were eccentric. The keen and witty Lady Wortley Montague defined

them as a third class of the human race--"men, women, and _Herveys_."

Those were curious times. The letter ends with the news that

Lord Bradford's _mistress_, to whom he had left his estate, had

bequeathed it to Pulteney, Earl of Bath. Thus that most parsimonious

of all peers got £12,000 a-year!

A letter from Richard Grenville (Lord Temple) to his brother, when

abroad, thus gives him the political news of the day:--

"Lord Cobham and Lord Gower have refused going into the cabinet,

and we have had very warm work in the House of Commons, the

first day, upon the Address. Pitt (Earl of Chatham) spoke like

ten thousand angels! and your humble servant was so inflamed at

their indecency, that he could not contain, but talked a good

while with his usual modesty.... We divided 150 against 259;

we reckon ourselves, however, 200. And it is inconceivable how

_colloquing_ and flattering all the ministers are to all of us,

notwithstanding our impertinence.... Who but young Bathurst to

answer me, in the most ridiculous, indecent, stupid speech that

ever was made. It was melancholy, but entertaining enough, to

see them skulk in, with their tails betwixt their legs, like so

many spaniels.... We shall have a glorious day about the sixteen

thousand. We shall then see, also, who are Hanoverians and who

Englishmen."

The day of the sixteen thousand was the debate on fixing the subsidy

for the payment of that number of Hanoverian troops. On this point

Opposition made a great and popular stand, contending, truly enough,

that nothing could be more derogatory to the honour of a great

country than the employment of mercenaries; but George II. had all

the prejudices of a German Elector on the subject, and the motion

was urged and carried.

The first two Georges seemed actually to think that the English

throne depended on the Hanoverian, and that the security of England

itself was imperfect without a few German brigades. The third

George, however, was of a different opinion; he boasted of his

"being born a Briton;" and in that manly and rational feeling, he

found England able to defend herself.

The Bathurst mentioned in the letter was the son of the lively and

pleasant old Lord Bathurst, the associate of Pope and the wits of

his day, alluded to in Burke's fine Episode of American Progress.

This son became Lord Chancellor. There is an allusion to Bubb

Dodington in the letter referring to his marriage. He led a loose

life; and in this instance Horace Walpole gave him but little credit

for reformation:--"Mr Dodington has at last owned his match with his

old mistress. I suppose he wants a _new_ one."

Dodington (Lord Melcombe) deserves some recollection for the mere

sake of his political _flexibility_. He entered Parliament young,

and was shortly after sent Envoy to Spain. Inheriting a considerable

fortune from his father, whose name was Bubb, he acquired a large

estate by the death of his maternal uncle, Dodington, whose name he

took in consequence. Still the pursuit of place was the business

of his life, and he became proverbial for the eagerness of his

avarice, and the slipperiness of his principles. Some talent, some

plausibility, great perseverance, and unblushing impudence, gained

him a succession of employments under all the successive parties.

Beginning his political life under Walpole, by whom he was appointed

a Lord of the Treasury, he secured for himself the lucrative

sinecure of the Clerkship of the Pells in Ireland. When Walpole

began to totter, Dodington _ratted_; and when the minister finally

fell, he was made a sharer in the spoil, obtaining the Treasurership

of the Navy. When Frederick, Prince of Wales, started in opposition,

Dodington hastened to worship the rising sun, and became head of the

"Prince's party." When Frederick died, Dodington returned to his

old quarters, and figured again as Treasurer of the Navy, under the

Newcastle administration.

On the death of George II., Lord Bute was the new dispenser of

places, and Dodington joined him accordingly. His reward was the

peerage in the same year. This was the summit of his busy, arrogant,

aspiring, and _humiliating_ career. Whether he contemplated further

experiments on fortune is not now to be known, for he enjoyed

his _honours_ but a twelvemonth, dying in 1762. All this labour

of servility was for himself alone, for he had no offspring. His

_Diary_ is familiar to the readers of political biography, and it is

uniformly quoted as the most singular instance, in public life, of

fearless exposure to contempt, of sinister caution, and conscious

tergiversation.

A _bon mot_ of Chesterfield was long remembered. Dodington, on

going abroad on some mission, observed to Chesterfield the vexation

of having such a name as Bubb appended to his better-sounding

appellation. "Poh!" said Chesterfield, "enlarge it--call yourself

Silly-bubb."

In this correspondence, it is surprising that we meet so few

references to the invasion of the Pretender in 1745, unless we are

to account for it by the letters having been destroyed. The event

itself was the most memorable since the Civil War; and if the nation

had been less Protestant, it might have changed the dynasty. But the

bigotry of James II. had raised a spirit of determined resistance

to his line, which nothing but actual overthrow in the field could

extinguish. The enterprise was gallantly conceived, and as gallantly

executed by the Highlanders; but there was a want of force. The

Clans fought boldly, but their blood was shed in vain; and the

invasion actually gave additional strength to the Protestant throne.

One of George Grenville's letters adverts to the progress of events

briefly in these words:--

"The last accounts from the North say that the Highlanders

have begun plundering part of the country between Edinburgh

and Berwick. This manner of proceeding may be an unfortunate

one with respect to those on whom it falls; but cannot be more

so to them than to the party which suffers it, whose hopes,

I think, it must entirely destroy, if carried to any length.

It is now said that the Castle of Edinburgh is in great want

of provisions; that the governor of the Castle ordered the

inhabitants of the city to supply him, and threatened, in case

of refusal, to burn the town, and beat it down about their ears.

They obeyed for two or three days; but then the Highlanders

threatened them with military execution if they continued it

any longer; upon which they desisted immediately: and the

magistrates have applied to the King, stating their miserable

situation, and beseeching him to give orders to the governor not

to execute his threats. The answer to the application I do not

know; but I imagine it is a favourable one."

An amusing feature of these volumes is the style in which public

men, in the last age, spoke of each other. It was contemptuous in

the extreme--every character was a caricature. Pitt, in a letter

to George Grenville, had alluded to Sir William Yonge, a veteran

placeman, as telling him of Grenville's "being very well; and I

most sincerely hope he tells me truth. I could more easily pardon

any of the _fictions_ in which he sometimes deals, than one on this

occasion."

Lord Hervey, in his _Memoirs_, thus sketches Yonge:--

"Without having done anything that I know of remarkably

profligate, anything out of the common track of a ductile

courtier and a parliamentary tool, his name was proverbially

used to express everything pitiful, corrupt, and contemptible.

It is true, he was a great _liar_, but rather a mean than a

vicious one. He had been always constant to the same party, he

was good-natured and good-humoured, never offensive in company,

nobody's friend, nobody's enemy.... He had a great command of

what is called parliamentary language, and a talent of talking

eloquently without a meaning, and expatiating agreeably upon

nothing, beyond any man, I believe, that ever had the gift of

speech."

After all, this description leaves Yonge, as regards talents, a very

considerable man. His lying, however, blackens the whole character.

Yet it throve with him; for he was, in succession, Commissioner of

the Admiralty, and of the Treasury, Secretary-at-War, finishing all

by the opulent sinecure of joint-Treasurer of Ireland.

All the Memoirs of the time remind us of the adage of Solomon,

"There is nothing new under the sun." Who will not recognise, in

the character of Admiral Vernon, (which has had the honour to be

delineated by Lord John Russell,) something of a celebrated living

Admiral?

"Vernon was a man of undoubted talent, but ill qualified, by his

character, to govern those under him, or to obey those above

him. Vernon was raised to the rank of Admiral of the White, in

April 1745. He was immediately appointed to the command of the

fleet, for the defence of the Channel and north coast, and in

this situation his vigilance has been greatly commended. The

Board of Admiralty, however, having found fault with some of his

dispositions of the force, he complained bitterly, and, after

an angry correspondence, desired leave to strike his flag. The

Admiralty, finding it useless to give orders, which were always

cavilled at, complied with his request. Hereupon, the Admiral,

who seems to have thought that the public would support him

against the Government, published two pamphlets, in which he

revealed the orders he had received, and published, without

leave, his official correspondence. The Admiralty visited this

offence in the most severe manner. Admiral Vernon was called on

to attend the Board. When he appeared, the Duke of Bedford asked

him, if he was the publisher of the two pamphlets. He declined

to answer the question. The Duke of Bedford then informed him

that the Board, after such a refusal, could not but consider him

as the publisher. He stated his surprise that he should have

been asked such a question, and withdrew. The next day, the Duke

of Bedford saw the King, and signified to the Board the King's

pleasure that Vice-Admiral Vernon should be struck out of the

list of flag-officers."

A letter from Pitt speaks of his election, and the unlucky battle of

Lauffeldt, in the same breath.

"My dear Grenville,--I am this moment arrived from Sussex,

victorious as yourself, (Grenville had just been elected for

Bridport,) after being opposed by Mr Gage and the Earl of

Middlesex. It is certain my own success does not give me more

pleasure than yours does.... Would to God our victories were

not confined to our own little world. A full detail of the late

action I have not yet seen. The clearest and best makes it

evident that the British and Electoral troops did all that can

be expected from men overpowered by numbers, the whole weight

being upon them. The Duke (of Cumberland) has done himself great

honour, by the efforts he made in person during the action," &c.

&c.

William Duke of Cumberland was always unfortunate on the Continent,

and, we believe, never succeeded but at Culloden. In the battle of

Lauffeldt, Walpole says, "he was very near taken, having, through

his short sight, mistaken a body of French for his own people. He

behaved as bravely as usual; but (he adds sarcastically) his prowess

is so well established, that it grows time for him to exert other

qualities of a general."

In this action, considerable loss seems to have taken place among

the officers of rank. Walpole says of Conway--"Harry Conway, whom

nature always designed for a hero of romance, and who is _deplace_

in ordinary life, did wonders, but was overpowered and flung down,

when one French hussar held him by the hair, while another was going

to stab him. At the instant, an English sergeant, with a soldier,

came up and killed the latter, but was instantly killed himself.

The soldier attacked the other, and Mr Conway escaped, but was

afterwards taken prisoner, and is since released on parole."

The description of the Lord Middlesex, mentioned in the letter, has

all the keenness of Walpole's style. (He was the eldest son of the

Duke of Dorset, and Master of the Horse to the Prince of Wales.)

"His figure was handsome, had all the reserve of his family, and

all the dignity of his ancestors. His passion was the direction of

operas, in which he had not only wasted immense sums, but had stood

lawsuits in Westminster Hall with some of those poor devils for

their salaries. The Duke of Dorset had often paid his debts, but

never could work upon his affections; and he had at last carried his

disobedience so far, in complaisance to, and in imitation of the

Prince, as to oppose his father in his own boroughs."

The death of Pelham, in 1754, awoke the bustle of parties in a

singular degree. The activity of Fox (Lord Holland) was remarked

by every one. Pelham had died about six in the morning; Fox was at

Lord Hartington's door _before eight_, called on Pitt at an "early

hour;" and a letter from Lord Hardwicke says--"A certain person

(Fox) within a few hours after Mr Pelham's death, had made strong

advances to the Duke of Newcastle and myself." Pitt's letter,

addressed to Lyttleton and the Grenvilles, containing the proposal

for a new cabinet, thus speaks of Fox:--"As to the nomination of a

Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr Fox, in point of party, seniority

in the corps, and, I think, of ability for Treasury and House of

Commons business, stands, upon the whole, first of any. Dr Lee, if

his health permits, would be very desirable. You, my dear Grenville,

would be my nomination. A fourth idea, which, if practicable, might

have great strength and efficiency for Government in it--I mean to

_secularise_, if I may use the expression, the Solicitor-General

(Murray,) and make him Chancellor of the Exchequer."

This fabric of the ministerial brain vanished, and Pitt remained in

the subordinate position of Paymaster of the Forces. The ostensible

cause was, the King's disinclination to have any intercourse with

Pitt. That disinclination, however, ceased to be a pretext when Pitt

became necessary to the Crown.

The fluctuations of memorable minds are the most interesting part of

their history. Pitt's political disappointments always brought on

a fit of his philosophy. When fortune smiled again, he forgot the

philosophy, and grasped at the political prize. After the failure

of his plan for the cabinet, he flew to Bath, and there, between

disgust and distemper, he became romantic.

He thus writes to Earl Temple:--

"I am still the same indolent, inactive thing your lordship

saw me; insomuch that I can hear unmoved of Parliament's

assembling, and Speakers choosing, and all other great earthly

things. I live the vernal day on verdant hills or sequestered

valleys, where, to be poetical, for me health gushes from

a thousand springs; and I enjoy the return of her, and the

absence of that thing called Ambition, with no small philosophic

delight. In a word, I envy not the favourites of Heaven, the

few, the very few, '_quos æquus amavit Jupiter_;' the dust of

Kensington causey, or the verdure of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields."

(The King resided at Kensington, and the Duke of Newcastle in

Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.) "I shall despatch my necessary business

as fast as I can, and pursue you to Stowe, where the charms, so

seldom found, of true taste, and the more rare joys and comforts

of true friendship, have fixed their happy residence. There it

is that I most impatiently long to enjoy you and your works."

Wilkes now comes on the _tapis_. A letter from Earl Temple

congratulates him on having returned from the "expensive delights

of Berwick." "I hope this will find you in good health, spirits as

usual, and with an excellent cause. It is very gracious and kind in

the pious Æneas, after his conversion after the love-feast, to keep

up that kind of friendship with one who has so slender a claim to be

admitted to the table of the saints."

The letter is written in a strain fitter for Wilkes than for a

man in a public rank, and with a public character. The "expensive

delights of Berwick" was an allusion to Wilkes's contest for the

borough, which cost him between three and four thousand pounds, and

in which he was defeated after all by the Delaval interest. Fox's

description of the debate on the petition is pungent. "Mr Wilkes, a

friend, it seems, of Pitt, (so little was he publicly known at this

period,) petitioned against the younger Delaval, chose (chosen) at

Berwick, on the ground of bribery only. Delaval made a speech, on

his being thus attacked, full of wit, humour, and buffoonery, which

kept the House in a continued roar of laughter."

From this period, for forty years, Wilkes flourished before the

public. The man will do a striking service to the history of the

constitution, of popular passion, and of political character, who

shall write a "History of Wilkes." There have been memoirs of his

life, publications of his letters, and registers of his political

victories; but these are still but _Mémoires pour Servir_. The

history of the _partisan_ is yet to be written; and it will still be

the more curious, since it will be the history of a political age,

which could have existed in no other country. Wilkes was embodied

Demagogism. Athens might have her Cleon, Naples her Massaniello, and

modern Rome her Rienzi; but England alone could produce a Wilkes,

tolerate him, triumph in him, struggle for him, and finally pay

to his indolent, helpless, and exhausted old age, almost the same

popular veneration which the multitude had paid when his intrigues

convulsed the whole fabric of the state. A temperament daring,

crafty, and unscrupulous, a fluent pen, and a sarcastic wit,

were the instruments of an ambition as remorseless, worldly, and

grasping, as dwelt in the bosom of a Cæsar Borgia or a Catiline.

An outline of this singular man's bustling career will best show

the pertinacity, the trials, and the troubles which belonged to the

candidate for the Tribuneship of Great Britain.

John Wilkes, born in 1727, the son of a rich distiller, began his

public life in the canvass for Berwick--alluded to by Lord Temple's

letter. Having lost that election, he obtained a seat for Aylesbury,

which involved him in heavy expenses. Parliament now became his

resource and his profession; and he connected himself with Lord

Temple, who gave him the colonelcy of the Buckingham militia.

In 1762, on the retirement of Lord Temple and Pitt from the

ministry, he became an Opposition pamphleteer. Lord Bute, though a

man of ability, was unpopular, as the royal favourite, and Wilkes

attacked him in the _North Briton_. In 1763, Lord Bute resigned,

and Wilkes, in the memorable No. 45 of the _North Briton_, libelled

the King's speech. The sarcasm stung so deep that a prosecution

was ordered against him. The prosecution finally became a triumph.

The Home Secretary having issued a "General Warrant" for the

apprehension of the author, printers, and publishers of the libel,

Wilkes, on his arrest, denied its legality, and, as a member of

Parliament, was committed to the Tower. The attention of the country

was now fixed on the question. He was brought up before Chief Baron

Pratt, who decided on the illegality of general warrants, and he

was discharged amid the popular acclamations. Wilkes, in his turn,

brought actions against the Home Secretary, the under secretaries,

the messengers, &c., and gained them all, with damages--the Crown

paying the damages. He was now the declared champion of the populace.

He republished the libel--fought a duel on the subject--was severely

wounded--and fled to France. A second prosecution was commenced,

and, on his non-appearance, he was expelled from the House of

Commons. A third prosecution was commenced against him for language

in a publication which was pronounced flagitious; and not returning

to meet it, he was _outlawed_.

On the change of ministry he returned to England, and was

imprisoned; and yet, during his imprisonment, was elected for

Middlesex. He was tried, and condemned to remain in jail twenty-two

months, or be fined £1000.

In 1769, in consequence of a pamphlet censuring the ministry for the

employment of troops to suppress the riots at his election, he was

again expelled, and again elected.

He was now declared incapable of sitting in Parliament, and Colonel

Luttrel was returned as the sitting member, though with but a fourth

of the votes. This act roused the popular indignation once more.

Wilkes, driven from Parliament, now turned to the city, and was

elected alderman; and on some printers being brought before him,

apprehended by a Royal proclamation, he discharged them all, on

the ground of maintaining the privileges of the city. The Lord

Mayor, Oliver, and Crosby, an alderman, followed Wilkes's example,

and being members of the House, were sent to the Tower. Wilkes, on

being ordered to attend at the bar, claimed his seat. Ministers

now dreading further involvement, adjourned the House over the day

appointed for his attendance, and, in 1774, he took his seat in

triumph as member for Middlesex!

But his fortune was now decayed; old age was coming on, and he was

glad to be chosen Chamberlain for London, (with a salary of nearly

£4000 a-year.) On the fall of the North Cabinet, 1782, he moved that

the resolution against him on the Journals should be expunged. The

motion was carried; his victory was complete, and the remainder of

his life was opulent and calm. That remainder, however, was brief,

for he died in 1797, at the age of seventy.

Wilkes was a man of education, a man of wit, and a man of

intrepidity. But his education had begun under an English sectary,

and was finished in a foreign college--the first accounting for

his republicanism, the next for his dissoluteness. But, though the

man himself was worthless, his struggles were not unprofitable to

the country. They fixed the popular attention on the principles

of national liberty; they brought all the great constitutional

questions into perpetual study. They rendered the public mind so

sensitive to the possible encroachments of the Crown, or even of the

Commons, that the future tyranny of any branch of the Legislature

would be next to impossible. Let the merit of Wilkes be, that he

drew a _fence_ round the Constitution.

But Wilkes had a support unknown to the public of his time, yet

amply divulged in these volumes. He appears to have kept up a

constant correspondence with Earl Temple, the head of the Grenville

interest; to have been anxious for his opinion on his publications,

and to have depended on him, even for pecuniary resources, which

probably were applied to those publications. The connection of

Wilkes in public sentiment with the Grenvilles, was, of course,

well known; but we doubt if the evidence of an intimate agency was

understood before. In these letters, Wilkes twice draws on Lord

Temple for £500; and as his lordship was opulent, and his client

quite the reverse, it is likely that those calls were not the only

instances of craving. But this connection largely accounts for the

otherwise marvellous daring of Wilkes. He had the Grenvilles, Pitt,

and their whole connection, then a most powerful party, to fall

back upon. The Cabinet which sent him to prison one day, might be

succeeded by the Cabinet which would open his gates the next; his

patrons might be the possessors of all power, and in the mean time,

however he might be persecuted, he was sure not to be crushed.

We have a letter from Lord Temple on this subject, which shows, by

its wish to mislead suspicion, the nature of this intimacy. The

letter is from a corrected and much obliterated draught, in Lord

Temple's handwriting; and as the editor says, "The very guarded

manner in which the letter is expressed, renders it probable that

Lord Temple expected that it would be read in the Post Office before

it reached its destination; for it cannot be supposed that he was

ignorant of the connection between the North Briton and Wilkes.

Almon (the printer) says, "Lord Temple was not ignorant of his

friend's design, and certainly approved of it."

The letter thus begins--"As to public events, I am sorry to see that

the paper hostilities are renewed with so high a degree of acrimony

as now appears on all sides; and although I make it a rule not to

agitate any matter of a political nature by the Post--this Argus,

with, at least, a hundred eyes--yet, while my thoughts agree with

Government, I may venture to hazard them, subject even to that

_inspection_. I am _quite at loss_ to guess through what channel the

_North Briton_ flows." The remainder is a critique on the paper,

concluding, "as the N. B. will, I suppose, endeavour by every means

to lie concealed, it will be impossible to ferret him out, and give

him good advice, otherwise I am sure I could convince him."

The caution of this note shows at once the confidential nature of

the connection, and the consciousness of the responsibility. But

the subsequent letters of Lord Temple to Wilkes prove the continued

and increased interest taken by his lordship in Wilkes's political

productions. A paper, called the _Monitor_, whether edited by Wilkes

or not, but evidently conceived by Lord Temple to be under his

direction, having expressed strong opinions relative to the royal

personages, his lordship writes as follows:--

"As all the sins of the _Monitor_ against the ruling powers

are principally charged upon our friend B., [Bradmore, his

attorney,] and then, by way of rebound, upon _two other

persons_, to whom the _Monitor_ has been so kindly partial, it

is of the more moment to avoid that sort of personality which

regards any of the R. F., [royal family.] I am glad, therefore,

_my hint_ came, at least, time enough to prevent the publication

of what would have filled up the whole measure of offence.... As

to other matters, sportsmen, I suppose, are at liberty to pursue

lawful game. I am only solicitous to have them not trespassers

within the bounds of royal manors.... I hope I may be allowed to

defray the loss and the expense of _laying aside the paper you

sent me_."

This evidently implies that the paper was submitted to his lordship

before publication.

The intercourse of a man like Wilkes, a notorious profligate, and

impeached in public for his excess of profligacy, could not have

been suffered by a man alive to character, but for some motive

beyond the public eye; it was, of course, political, the common

pursuit of an object, which is presumed to salve all sins.

A strong instance of their intimacy occurs in what Wilkes might have

considered as his last act in this world. Lord Talbot, having been

attacked in the _North Briton_, demanded an apology from Wilkes, who

denied his lordship's right to question him. A challenge ensued,

which produced a meeting, which produced an exchange of shots,

without injury on either side. But Wilkes had given to his second,

Colonel Berkeley, a note to be delivered, in case of his fall, to

Earl Temple. This note Berkeley desired to return to Wilkes on the

close of the affair; but it was forwarded to Temple, "as a proof of

the regard and affection he bore your lordship, at a minute which

might have been his last."

Wilkes's letter is dated

"BAGSHOT, _Nov. 5--Seven at night._

"MY LORD,--I am here, just going to decide a point of honour

with Lord Talbot. I have only to thank your lordship for all

your favours to me; and to entreat you to desire Lady Temple to

superintend the education of a daughter, whom I love beyond all

the world. I am, my Lord, your obliged and affectionate humble

servant,

JOHN WILKES."

The second volume contains the Correspondence of Ministers, actual

and expectant, down to 1764. Among those letters is one which

exhibits a curious coincidence with the late transactions of the

Foreign Office, though the relative positions of the persons were

changed.

"The Earl of Egremont to Mr Grenville.

_February 12, 1763._

"DEAR SIR,--Perhaps the Duc de Nivernois has sent you word that

the Treaty was to be signed yesterday. If not, I would not leave

you a moment ignorant of the news after I had had it. Ever yours

most faithfully,

EGREMONT."

"What think you of the Duke of B., [Bedford, then ambassador

in Paris,] who lets the _King's Ministers_ be informed by the

_French ambassador_ of the appointment to sign the Treaty!"

The volume abounds in references to high names. Among the rest

we have a "Note" from the great Samuel Johnson, which, though

only a receipt for his pension, has the value of a national

remembrancer:--"To Mr Grenville. Sir,--Be pleased to pay to the

bearer seventy-five pounds, being the quarterly payment of a pension

granted by his Majesty, and due on the 29th of June last to, Sir,

your humble servant, SAM. JOHNSON." The merit of this pension,

so worthily bestowed, was due to Wedderburn, afterwards Earl of

Rosslyn, and Chancellor.

A letter from the Countess Temple contains some lively Court gossip.

"Mrs Ryde was here yesterday. She is acquainted with a brother

of one of the yeomen of the guard. He tells her, that the King

cannot live without my Lord _Bute_. If he goes out anywhere, he

stops, when he comes back, to ask if my Lord Bute is come yet.

And that his lords, or people that are about him, look as mad as

can be at it."

"The mob have a good story of the Duke of Devonshire, (Lord

Chamberlain.) That he went first, to light the King; and the

King followed him, leaning on Lord Bute's shoulder; upon which

the Duke of Devonshire turned about, and desired to know 'whom

he was waiting upon?'"

The name of the Chevalier D'Eon occurs in the Correspondence as

demanding some wine detained in the Customs. The Chevalier was a

personage who excited great public curiosity, even almost within our

own time. He had been a captain of French dragoons, and was brought

to England as the secretary to the Duc de Nivernois, who conducted

the negotiations for the peace of 1763. On the Duke's departure,

he left D'Eon minister-plenipotentiary. The Count de Guerchy, the

new ambassador, desired him to resume the post of secretary; this

hurt his pride, and he quarrelled with the ambassador and with the

English Court, but was pensioned by France. A report at length

was spread that D'Eon was actually a female; this the Chevalier

fiercely denied, and we believe threatened to shoot the authors of

the report. However, in a short time after, he adopted the dress of

a female, and retained it till he died. As all matters in England

_then_ turned to gambling, wagers were laid on the subject; until,

at length, it was proved that the assumption of the female dress was

either an eccentricity or a wilful imposture. His pension having

been cut off by the Revolution, this singular person was reduced to

great difficulties; so much so, that, to raise money, he appeared as

a fencer on the stage, but still appeared in woman's costume.

We must now close our observations on this collection, which is

indispensable to the historian of the time. Not referring to any

of those great transactions which make the characteristics, or the

catastrophes, of nations, these letters exhibit the _interior_ of

public life with remarkable minuteness, and must have a peculiar

interest for public men. But, with the honours of the statesman,

they lay before us so vivid an example of the troubles, the

vexations, and the disappointments of political life, and the

struggles of men possessing the highest abilities and the highest

character, that we doubt whether a more stringent moral against

political ambition ever came before the eyes of England.

TIBET AND THE LAMAS.[7]

[7] _Tibet, Tartary, and Mongolia_: Their Social and Political

Condition, and the Religion of Boodh, as there existing, &c. By

HENRY T. PRINSEP, Esq. London, 1851.

Some years ago we had taken our passage for Alexandria on board

a packet from Valletta. The Ægyptus, spick and span new from the

Toulon dockyard, with the tricolor flaunting over her stern all

resplendent with gilded sphynxes, lay, steam up and ready for

departure, near the centre of the Great Harbour, amid that glorious

cluster of cities which the knights of St John reared round the

banner of the Cross, when Christendom was forced to shorten her

cords and draw in her outposts before the swelling power of the

unbelievers. Berth selected, baggage stowed away, and hour of dinner

ascertained, we were at leisure to enjoy the familiar but never

palling glories of the sky and scenery, and to amuse ourselves in

watching the travellers of various nations who, party by party,

mounted the deck, speculating the while on whatever promised in

the first aspect of those who were to be our messmates on the five

days' voyage. They were not numerous or very interesting--a party

of French artists, bloused and bearded, who returned from their

brief circuit of Valletta as full of the stalwart figures and novel

costume of its garrison (the Forty-Second) as of the picturesque

grandeur of its palaces, or the Titanic sublimity of its bulwarks--a

grey-haired English veteran proceeding to his divisional command

in India, with wife and daughters, and a most ante-Napierian

baggage-train, received by M. le Commandant with scowling courtesy,

as if the stately dame were _perfide Albion_ in proper person--then

one or two half-Frenchified Moslems, returning from their studies in

Paris with a complement of Western vice and science--and lastly, in

coarse brown robe, sandalled feet, and shaven crown, with shining

breviary beneath the arm, three Capuchin monks, going forth to

make disciples for Holy Church in the far East. Each of the latter

had his trunk--one of those lanky, hog-backed articles in which

the continental European rejoices--and on the trunk his name and

destination painted. Two, if we remember, were bound for Agra--the

destination of the third we never can forget. On his coffer the

painter had inscribed, as coolly, we daresay, as a railway porter

would ticket your portmanteau for York or Glasgow,

"FR. ANASTASIO

TIBET."

"It is a far cry to Loch Ow;" and whether brother Anastasius and his

long pack ever reached their destination as per ticket we know not.

But Tibet and its capital have since been visited by two brethren of

his Church, though not of his order; and we have to thank Mr Prinsep

for calling attention to their narrative in the very able abstract

which he has published.[8]

[8] _Souvenirs d'un Voyage dans la Tartarie, le Thibet, et la

Chine, pendant les années 1844, 1845, et 1846._ Par M. HUC,

Prêtre-Missionaire de la Congregation de Saint Lazare. Paris, 1850.

To many readers, possibly, the name of Tibet calls up but a vague

and shadowy image of a sort of eastern Lapland, which serves as a

top-margin to the map of Hindostan, and produces lamas, generally

understood to be a species of shawl goats from whose fleece the

Messrs Nicol make world-renowned paletôts. Our purpose, then, is to

define our ideas of the region called Tibet, and to gather together

as we may, from old and new sources, some picture more or less dim

and fragmentary of the land and its inhabitants.

Conquerors and congresses may make rivers the frontiers of polities

and zollvereins, but mountains are the true boundaries of races.[9]

The Rhine may part Germany from France, but the Vosges, not the

Rhine, parts the German from the Frenchman. Not Tweed, but the

Grampians, have marked in our native land the marches of Celt and

Saxon. On the side of the Five Rivers the Indian population shades

gradually from the true Hindoo into the shaggy robber of the valleys

west of the Indus; at the extremity of the peninsula the Tamul

tribes of the continent have peopled the coast of Ceylon, as the

ancient Belgæ peopled the coast of Kent. But along the northern

limit of India runs a barrier which,

"With snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds,"

dividing the Caucasian from the Mongolian race now as completely as

it did two or three thousand years ago.

[9] _Vide_ Greek Lexicon--Ορος--A mountain; Ὁρος--A boundary.

From the plains of the Punjab, hard baked beneath the blazing May

sun--from the dusty levels of Sirhind, where meagre acacias cheat

the eye with promise of shade--from the long lines of thatched

pyramids that greet the traveller in the Doab, as he approaches a

British cantonment--eastward through the rich misgoverned tracts

of populous Oude, that year by year pour forth their streams of

stalwart soldiers, servants, and labourers, to push their fortune in

the service of the Kumpanee Buhadoor or its representatives--still

eastward from the fertile prairies of Tirhoot and Purneea--from the

bamboo thickets and rice swamps of northern Bengal--yet far eastward

from the _ultima Thule_ of Anglo-Indian power, where the majestic

flood of Burrampooter sweeps down into Assam from the unknown

hills--from all these

"Dusk faces with white muslin turbans wreathed"

look northward through the clear morning air on the same mighty

Himalaya,[10] stretching beyond their ken its awful barrier of

unchanging snow.

[10] _Hema-alya_, _i. e._ Hiemis Aula--The abode of snow.

In mounting from the plains of India over the arduous passes,

ranging from 12,000 to 20,000 feet above the sea, through which the

pressure of human need, curiosity, and superstition, has forced a

scanty and intermittent stream of intercourse, the traveller, after

traversing the last ridge of the Himalaya, instead of having to

descend again to the level of the southern regions, finds himself

but little raised above a vast table-land, in some places extending

in barren wastes of plain, or of bare monotonous hills, intersected

by sudden deep valleys or great ravines, in which the rivers flow

and the few villages are scattered; in others forming an endless

alternation of lofty mountain ranges and low valleys, but the

bottom of these last still many thousand feet above the plains of

the Indian peninsula. To this elevated region, stretching from the

Indus north-west of Kashmeer, to the extremest point of Assam, and

somewhat farther east, a space of more than 1500 miles, the name of

Tibet applies. The limits of its extent northward are somewhat more

vague; but if they be considered to include a breadth of three or

four degrees of latitude (33°-36°) towards the western extremity,

and of nine or ten degrees (28°-38°) in the eastern and widest part,

the estimate will not be far wrong. The identity throughout this

"very large and long countrey," (to borrow the expression of an old

traveller,) consists in the general use of the same language and

customs, the prevalence, except in the extreme west, of the same

faith, and the possession of the same religious books, written or

printed in a character common to all. To these we might perhaps add

the domestication of the shawl-goat and the yak throughout the whole

territory.

The name of Tibet does not appear to be known, or at least applied,

either in the country itself or by its Hindoo neighbours. Tubbet, or

Tobot, is stated to have been the Mongolian appellation of a nation

who anciently occupied the mountainous country on the north-west

confines of China. Our old travellers doubtless learned the word

from the Mongols; and from them also it has been adopted as the name

of the high country north of India, in all the Mussulman languages

of Western Asia. It was more particularly, perhaps, applied in these

to Balti and Ladakh, the two most westerly districts, which, in the

time of Bernier, were commonly distinguished as Little and Great

Tibet. The natives apply to their country the name of Bód or Pót,

and as Bhoteeas they are themselves known in Hindostan; though the

appellation of Bhotan has in our geography-books come to be confined

to a small dependency of Tibet bordering on the north of Assam,

where the race comes most closely in contact with our knowledge and

the British power, just as our forefathers gave the title of Dutch

specially to that fraction of the Teutonic or _Deutsch_ race which

most nearly adjoined their shores.

The central and most elevated portion of this region is the province

of Ngari--called by the people of the adjoining British territory

_Hyundes_, or "Snowland." It embraces extensive desert tracts,

intersected by several lofty ranges, the chief being that of Kylass,

the sacred celestial mountain of Indian mythology. The table-land at

the foot of Kylass, on which lie the twin lakes of Rákas Thal and

Manasaráwur, at a height of 15,250 feet above the sea, is probably

the most elevated in Asia, or in the world. On the shores of these

sacred lakes occurred, some years ago, the catastrophe of a curious

historical episode. Zorawur Singh, commanding the troops, of Goolab

Singh of Jummoo, (now well known as the Lord of Kashmeer,) after

overrunning Little Tibet and subjugating Ladakh, advanced up the

Indus and beyond it, till he had occupied posts on the frontier of

the Nepalese Himalayas, as if he meditated a foray on the Grand

Lama's capital at last. But it proved a Moscow expedition on a small

scale. His troops, unused to such a climate, and straitened for

fuel, were beset in the depth of winter by a superior force from

Lhassa, and, helpless from cold, were overpowered: their leader

was slain, their officers captured, and the mass perished in heaps

miserably. A few poor, frost-maimed wretches--the sole relics of

Zorawur Singh's adventurous band--brought the tale to the British

station at Almora, having fled across passes 16,000 feet high in

mid-winter. The bleak aspect of the Tibetan plain, as seen from the

pass of Niti, somewhat westward of the lakes--shrubless, treeless,

houseless--is compared by a traveller to the dreary moors of Upper

Clydesdale, with stone and scanty brown herbage in the place of

heather. Some of the most celebrated rivers in the world have their

not unworthy source in the lofty table which forms the base of

the Hindoo Olympus. The Ganges rises in the mountains immediately

adjoining Ngari on the south-west, the Gogra, which, were size alone

to decide the rights of river nomenclature, might perhaps claim the

Ganges as a tributary, has its source in Ngari; so have the Indus,

the Sutlej, and the Sanpoo. The Sanpoo, after flowing eastward

behind the Himalayan range for some eight hundred miles, is lost to

geography in the untraversed regions south-east of Lhassa. In the

last century, D'Anville identified the Sanpoo with the Irawaddy,

flowing through the whole extent of the Burman Empire to the sea at

Rangoon; but the sagacity of Rennel suggested that the Burrampooter,

emerging from unexplored mountains into the valley of Assam, and

bearing to the sea a flood of waters greatly exceeding the Ganges,

is the true Sanpoo. Turner, who, in his mission, reached the banks

of the Sanpoo, indicates its course from the information of the

Lamas in entire coincidence with Rennel's view.[11] In later years,

however, Klaproth has revived the theory of D'Anville, apparently

without good grounds. The Dihong, which is the principal contributor

to the Burrampooter in Assam, though its course above the plains

remains unexplored, bursts on our knowledge with a stream of

such capacity as quite justifies the length attributed to it by

the supposition that it is identical with the Sanpoo. And there

seems little reason to doubt that the two great rivers, Ganges and

Sanpoo, rising from the same lofty region, within 150 miles of one

another, after diverging to an interval of some 17° of longitude,

combine their waters in the plains of Bengal. In Rennel's time, the

Burrampooter, after issuing westward from the Assam valley, swept

south and south-eastward, and, forming with the Ganges a fluvial

peninsula, entered the sea abreast of that river below Dacca. And

so almost all English maps persist in representing it, though this

eastern channel is now, unless in the rainy season, shallow and

insignificant; the vast body of the Burrampooter cutting across the

neck of the peninsula under the name of Jenai, and uniting with the

Ganges near Pubna (about 150 miles north-east of Calcutta), from

which point the two rivers, under the local name of Pudda, flow on

in mighty union to the sea.

[11] On the other hand, it is curious that Rennel should have

misapprehended the true courses of the other Ngari rivers as he

has done. The upper streams of both Indus and Sutlej--the one as

flowing past Ladakh from the range of Kylass, and the other past

Chaprung from the Rakas lake--are represented with a general truth;

but instead of tracing them westward to their true debouchments in

the Punjaub, under the well-known names just mentioned, the Ganges

is made to draw its waters from the combination of these two Tibetan

streams, thus acquiring an imaginary extension of several hundred

miles.--(See _Memoir of a Map of Hindostan_, 1778, p. 102.)

The upper part of the Indus valley, with the adjoining pastures,

bears the name of _Chanthan_, or the _Northern Plains_, and

produces the finest shawl wool. The export of this was long almost

monopolised by the Ladakh market for the supply of Kashmeer, but

much of it now finds its way direct to British India by the Sutlej

valley and more eastern passes. The population is most scanty, and

partially nomadic--the names which dot it on the map being mostly

mere shepherd shelters, or clusters of nomad tents round a few

houses of sunburnt brick. Tashigong, the only place of any extent,

is the site of an important monastery. North of the Indus, and

separated from it by a range of mountains, is the extensive salt

lake of Pangkung. On the Singhkhabab, or Indus, farther westward,

are strung, as it were, the principalities of Ladakh and Balti.

These consist of a mass of mountain ranges rising from a base

elevated 11,000 feet and more above the sea. This rugged country

occupies the whole breadth of the Indus drainage from the Kashmeer

Himalyas to the Karakoram mountains. The levels along the borders

of the streams, and the slopes at the bases of the mountains,

are diligently cultivated and irrigated, being first formed into

terraced steps by a great accumulation of patient labour--a practice

that prevails through the whole extent of the Himalaya Mountains.

The uncultivated part of the country has the usual Tibetan aspect of

bleakness and sterility.

Balti, or Little Tibet, is still independent under various

chieftains, of whom the most powerful resides at Skardo, a

considerable village, doing duty for a city where cities are so

scarce. Ladakh was conquered by the Sikh feudatory, Goolab Singh,

in 1835; and after the Sutlej victories of 1846, possession was

confirmed to him by Lord Hardinge, at the same time that Kashmeer

was made over to his tender mercies. Le, the capital, and probably

the only aggregation of dwellings worthy of the name of town,

situated in the valley of the Indus, and containing from 700 to 1000

houses, had before that period been visited by only two or three

Europeans, of whom the persistent and unfortunate Moorcroft was the

first in this century. Captain H. Strachey, of the Bengal army,

belonging to the commission appointed to define the boundary between

Ladakh and the Chinese or Tibetan dependencies, spent several years,

between 1846 and 1849, in those regions; and far more accurate and

full information than has ever yet been obtained may be expected

from his researches. The whole population of Balti, and a half in

Ladakh, are Sheea Mahommedans.

Returning to the centre of the table-land, we have, on the

north-east of Ngari, extensive and almost unknown deserts,

containing numerous salt-lakes, and haunted by a scanty nomad

population, called by the Tibetans _Sok_, and supposed to represent

the ancient Sacians. South-east lie the provinces of U and Tsang,

or, conjointly, U-Tsang, to which the natives specially apply the

name of Bód, and which may be considered as Tibet Proper. It is

that part of the region to which we turn with most curiosity and

interest, as containing the centre of spiritual and chief political

supremacy--Lhassa, so long the unreachable Timbuctoo of the East.

Lhassa is situated in the province of U, on a northern tributary

of the Sanpoo, by which it is separated from Tsang. The latter

territory is immediately governed by the Teshoo Lama, the potentate

with whom we made an accidental acquaintance in Warren Hastings'

time--our first and last brief but cordial intercourse with Tibet

Proper. The provinces of U-Tsang are intersected by lofty alpine

ranges, which, as they trend east and south-east, converge, but

without uniting, insomuch that, in the inexpressibly rugged country

where the frontiers of Tibet, Burma, and China approach one another,

we find four parallel valleys traversed by four of the greatest

rivers of Asia, embraced within the narrow space of one hundred

miles. The Tibetan portion of this wild region, known as _Kham_, is

inhabited by a rough race, of warlike and independent character,

retaining many primitive superstitions beneath the engrafted

Lamanism, and treating with little respect the Chinese pretensions

to sovereignty. Through this region the missionaries Huc and Gabet

were escorted back to China--the first Europeans, there can be

little doubt, who ever trod those wilds. The plundering excursions

of the Kham-pa extend all across the breadth of Tibet, and the fear

of them haunts even the pilgrims to Kylass and the Manusaráwur Lake.

The Bhotan territory remains, which, from language, religion,

manners, and political connection, may justly be considered as

Tibetan, though occupying not the table-land north of the Himalaya,

but the whole breadth of the range itself, from the Tsang country to

Assam. Bhotan is a mass of mountains clothed in perpetual verdure,

its slopes covered with forests of large and lofty trees; populous

villages, girt with orchards, are scattered along the sides and

summits of the spurs; every declivity of favourable aspect is carved

into terraces, cultivated to the utmost, and carefully irrigated

from the abundant streams. Nothing could be physically in greater

contrast with the bleak and arid plains or rocky hills of Tibet. The

people of Bhotan are a remarkably fine race. Scarcely anywhere else

in the world shall we find an equal proportion of men so straight,

so well made, and so athletic, many of them more than six feet high.

Deformity is almost unknown, except that arising from goitre, which

is very prevalent among them, as it is, indeed, over the whole

extent of the Himalaya, and of the Turaee, or forest tract, at the

base of the mountains; whilst Tibet Proper is entirely free from it.

Tibetan geographers, according to Csoma de Körös, compare Ngari,

with its fountains, to a tank, U-Tsang to the irrigating channels,

and Kham to the field irrigated. We do not appreciate the aptness of

the similitude. More intelligibly, European geographers have likened

Tibet in form to a vast cornucopia pouring from its wide eastern

mouth vast rivers forth, to fertilise the happier plains of China,

Siam, Burma, and Assam.

All these countries, with the exception of Little Tibet, or Balti,

and of Ladakh since its seizure by the Sikhs, acknowledge more

or less directly the supremacy of the Dalai Lama at Lhassa, and,

beyond him, that of China. Since the accession of the existing

Manchoo dynasty to the throne of Pekin, they have always maintained

two envoys at the court of Lhassa. Mr Prinsep aptly compares the

position of these ministers to that of a British resident at the

court of Luknow or Hyderabad. They do not, however, appear to

meddle much with the ordinary internal administration, nor is their

military force maintained in the country large. Besides a few

hundred men at Lhassa, and guards established at intervals on the

post-road from China, they take upon them the superintendence of the

passes of the Himalaya, and see to the exclusion of Europeans by

those inlets with unrelaxing rigour. In other parts of Tibet there

are no Chinese.

The whole of this country, though so near the tropic, is the

coldest and bleakest inhabited by a civilised people on the surface

of the earth, if we except Siberia. Forests of cedar, holly, and

other Himalayan trees, are met with in the valleys of the extreme

east, bordering upon China. Lhassa is surrounded with trees of

considerable size; and a few straggling willows or poplars, artfully

pollarded for the multiplication of their staves, are found by the

watercourses of Ladakh and Tibet Proper; but the vast extent of the

table-land is bare and desolate, and as devoid of trees as Shetland.

The ancient Hindoos are said to have esteemed it as a vault over

hell. The only shrubs that dot the waste are the Tartaric furze, or

the wizened wormwood, with its white parched stalks, or perchance,

in more favoured spots, a few stunted rose-bushes. Though the winter

is long and severe, snow is not frequent in the valleys. The air is

of a purity and brilliance which dazzles and fatigues the eye, and

its excessive dryness produces effects analogous to those of the

scorching May winds in the torrid plains of Hindostan;--

"The parching air

Burns frore, and cold performs the effect

of fire;"

vegetation is dried to brittleness, and leaves may be

rubbed between the fingers into dust. Mahogany chests, and furniture

belonging to Turner's party, which had stood the climate of Bengal

for years, warped and split under the cold dry winds of Tibet. Wood

seems subject to no other cause of injury from time.

As might be expected, tillage is scanty, and the population depend

much on imported food. Villages are small, seldom containing more

than twenty houses. These, in the better parts of the country, have

a cheerful appearance, the dwellings being all white-washed, with

doors and windows picked out in red or yellow. Lhassa would seem

to be the only city of Tibet worthy of that title: the Chinese

geographers, indeed, and native itineraries, speak of one or two

others, but nothing is known of them. Teshoo Loombo on the Sanpoo,

ten days from Lhassa, though the residence of the second personage

in Tibet, seems to be merely a monastic establishment. Indeed, the

large convents are probably, after Lhassa, the most considerable

nuclei of population in the country; and Lhassa itself has perhaps

grown to importance as an appendage to the Potála, or residence of

the Grand Lama.

No European traveller has described this celebrated city before

M. Huc, and we cannot say that he succeeds in bringing its aspect

before his readers very vividly. When within a day's journey of

the city, one of the most rugged mountain passes of the many which

the missionaries had met with, in their journey from the east of

Tartary, still intervened. "The sun was about to set as we completed

our descent of the innumerable zigzags of the mountain path. Issuing

into a wide valley, we beheld on our right Lhassa, the famous

metropolis of the Buddhistic world. The multitude of aged trees,

which encircle the city as with a girdle of foliage--the lofty

white houses, terminating in flat roofs surrounded by turrets--the

numerous temples, with their gilded canopies--the Boodhala, crowned

by the palace of the Dalai Lama--all unite to give Lhassa a majestic

and imposing appearance." The city is stated to be nearly two

leagues in circumference, and it is now without walls. Outside the

suburbs are numerous gardens planted with the large trees mentioned

above. The main streets are wide, well laid-out, and tolerably clean

in dry weather; but the dirt of the suburbs is unspeakable. The

houses, which are large, and several stories high, are whitewashed,

according to universal Tibetan custom, the doors and windows being

bordered in red or yellow. M. Huc does not enter into any detail

of their architecture, but we may suppose that these houses are

analogous in character to what is seen in other parts of Tibet. The

lower part of a house presents lofty dead walls, pierced only by

two or three air-holes; above these are from one to half-a-dozen

tiers of windows with projecting balconies, and, over all, flat,

broad-brimmed roofs, at a variety of levels; add to this, that

the houses run into one another so strangely that it is difficult

to determine the extent of each mansion, and that the groups of

building generally contract in extent as they rise. On the whole,

we may conceive a Tibetan city like a cluster of card-houses of

various altitudes. In the suburbs of Lhassa there is one quarter

entirely built of the horns of sheep and oxen set in mortar. The

construction is solid, and the effect highly picturesque, the varied

colour and texture of the two species facilitating the production

of a great variety of patterns. Lhassa bustles with the continual

traffic of crowds attracted by commerce or devotion from all parts

of Asia, and presents an astonishing variety of physiognomy,

costume, and language.